


Coal Calling the Kettle Black

by calrissian18



Series: Teen Wolf Coda [10]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Based on the Events of 4x07, Coda, Episode Related, Infidelity, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-05
Updated: 2014-08-05
Packaged: 2018-02-11 21:57:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2084598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calrissian18/pseuds/calrissian18
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You okay?”</p>
<p>Stiles scratched at his eyebrow with his opposite thumbnail, turned around.  He squinted, licked his lip.  “You?” he asked rather than answered.  Stiles 101 there.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>4.07 - There was neck and face touching and I'm not a perfect person, okay?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coal Calling the Kettle Black

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Alkaline Trio's ' _Radio_ ' because that song is awesome, obviously. Look at me, doing coda the proper way - all next day and all. Wa-bam!

Scott watched Malia stalk out, Stiles still crouched, paper crumpling in his fist.  Kira ducked out from under his arm, looked from Stiles’ back up to Scott’s face.  “I’ll—I’ll go after her.”  It was as much a question as a statement.  Scott nodded to her and she offered him a tight smile. 

He watched her leaving for a second before turning back to Stiles.  He stood slow, like he was getting accustomed to doing it on his own all over again – it was the way he’d moved after the nogitsune and it wasn’t a welcome reminder.  Scott took a few steps closer, watched him with a furrowed brow.  “You okay?”

Stiles scratched at his eyebrow with his opposite thumbnail, turned around.  He squinted, licked his lip.  “You?” he asked rather than answered.  Stiles 101 there.

Scott didn’t force it, dipped his head, shrugged his shoulders in a way that showed his empty hands.  He asked the question he’d wanted to ask since the moment the door opened.  “Why is there blood on you?”  He couldn’t help the raspy way it came out, the way the claws he’d just gotten under control wanted to snap back out.

“It’s not mine,” Stiles said, breathless, shaking his head, fiddling with the ends of his jacket.

Scott stepped up to him, eyes hard.  “I know that, I’d smell—why do you have blood on you?”

Stiles swallowed.  “It was the proctor.  He had a gun, your dad—your dad stopped him.”

Scott’s nostrils flared, eyes darting down to the blood soaking his shirt.  “It must have been close,” he said tightly.

Stiles looked down too.  “Yeah, I—I’m fine.  It’s okay, I’m okay.”

Scott let out a hefty breath, a soft, broken noise, and surged forward.  He pulled Stiles into him, palm curved over the back of his neck, pressing Stiles’ forehead down into his shoulder and saying harshly right against his skin, mouth on the bend of his ear, “This is so fucking far from okay, Stiles.” 

He could feel Stiles’ low-level trembling secondhand and his hands fisted in the back of Scott’s shirt, it tugged the fabric against his shoulders, his neck, made him feel hot and strangled for a half second.  Stiles’ nose brushed his neck, breath banking there.  “I know.”

“Again, Stiles.  Again.”  His voice wobbled, coming out watery and strained.  “I nearly lost you  _again_.  You can’t—I  _can’t_.  If you die, I will lose my mind.  Literally.  I will literally lose my mind.”  Stiles’ breath came out shaky too and Scott wrapped his arms around his back, dragged him in, squashed him against his chest too hard but, aside from a harsh puff of air, Stiles gave no indication of it.

“I know,” Stiles said breathlessly.  “Me too.”

The scent of blood was strong between them and Scott could feel his heart going haywire, not calmed at all by having Stiles safe and in his arms.  Not when he’d been one floor up and so close to death and Scott hadn’t even known it, hadn’t even realized how close—“You have to stay alive,” he heaved out the words, “for me.  No more recklessness, no more self-sacrificing.”

Stiles snorted, more breath than sound, and said into the soft underside of his jaw, “Pot, kettle.”  He pulled back and Scott didn’t think twice about it, pressed his mouth to Stiles’, opened the seam of his lips and kissed him hard.

Stiles kissed back, hands grabbing at Scott, pulling him closer and it was sloppy and they caught chin, jaw, cheek, nose as much as each other’s lips.  But it wasn’t about kissing Stiles so much as it was about having him close, knowing that for those few moments that he was out of trouble, wasn’t on the verge of death, that he knew how important he was to Scott. 

Scott’s hand found the base of Stiles’ skull, thumb pressing in and their mouths slotting more firmly and, fuck, kissing Stiles was—he felt so  _good_ under Scott’s hands and it wasn’t arousing as much as it was completely and utterly freeing, that he’d found this better and more effective way to show his affection for his best friend, for easily the most important person in his world.  Right up there with his mom. 

Stiles seemed to be reacting to it in the same way, holding onto Scott like he couldn’t get close enough, like they couldn’t express how fucking  _shitty_  it was that they’d both nearly just died when they  _needed_  each other.  They were brothers and Scott couldn’t keep going if he lost that, lost this. 

“Stiles.”  There was relief and confusion in equal parts in the word.

They broke apart and Stiles looked back to the open vault entrance at his dad staring into it.  He barely spared him a glance before turning back to meet Scott’s eyes, holding his gaze steady.  Scott quirked his lips, smiled slightly, let him know they were okay without having to say it. 

Stiles gave him a single small nod and started to break away.  Scott grabbed his forearm before he could take a full step.  “Stiles,” he said firmly.  “Stay safe.” 

Stiles smiled slightly, it didn’t last.  “You too.”

He let Stiles walk away, because he knew he’d be able to yank him back, press his mouth to him and prove exactly how glad he was he’d survived another day. 

Stiles’ dad fit a hand over his scruff, squeezed, and Stiles ducked into him.  Scott smiled watching them and the sheriff only waited until they were at the end of the hall, still in Scott’s hearing range – which he probably didn’t realize, to say in mostly disbelief, “Scott?”

Stiles didn’t answer and there was silence between them for another few seconds.

His dad snorted and admitted, “I did not see that coming.”

Stiles sounded utterly unfazed when he answered back, “You always knew he was the love of my life.”  He  _sounded_  like he was shrugging, grinning then.  “From cradle to grave, y’know.”

His dad let out a huff of laughter, sounding more than willing to concede the point.  “You got me there.”

**Author's Note:**

> I have a [tumblr](http://wellhalesbells.tumblr.com/), where I am amazing. There are testimonials. Invisible ones. *waggles eyebrows*


End file.
